The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1887-08-19

cen him"
Then she rose, did this shadowy, noble
ooliing lady, aud gided from the church,
Dearing away with her the haunting burden
If her sin
And Ernesti He stood there and said the
responses in his clear, manly voice; but even
rs he did so there rose before him the SEM
blance of the little room in fai away Pre-
boria, and of the vision which he had had of
this very church, and Of man standing
where he himself stood now, and a lovely
woman standing where stood Dorothy, his
wife Well, it was gone, as all visions go, as
we, who nre but visions of longer life, go
too. 1t was gone, gone into that awful limbo
of the past which is ever opening Its insatia-
bic nav and swallowing us and our joys and
our sorrows-making meal of the atoms of
today, that 1t may support itself till the
atoms OF tomorrow are ready for its appe-
tte
1t was gone, and he was married, and Do
rothy his wife stood there wreathed In smiles
and bushes which he could not see, and Mr..
Halfords voice. now grown weak and quaver-
ing, was formulating heartfelt congratula-
tions, which were being repeated in the gi-
gantic echo of Jeremy's deep tones, and in his
uncle's quick, jerky utterances. So he took
Dorothy his wife into his arms and kissed |
her, and she led him down the church to the |
old vestry, into which so many thousand |
newly married couples had passed during the |
course of tho last six centuries, and signed |
his name where they placed his pen upon the |
parchment, wondering the while if he was
signing it straight, and then went out, and |
was helped into the carriage and driven
home
Ernest and his wife went upon no honey
moon they stopped quietly there at the old
house and began to accustom themselves to
their new relationship. Indeed, to the out
slider ataany rate, there seemed to be little
difference between it and the former one for
they could not be much more together now
than they had been before Yet in Dorothys
face there was a difference. great peace,
an utter satisfaction which had been wanting
before, came down aud brooded upon it and
made it beautiful. She both looked and was
happy woman.
month passed. Mr.. Cardus had been
busy from morning until night. He was
always busy man, writing daily with his
own hand an almost incredible number of
letters, for he carried on ALL or nearly all,
his great affairs by correspondence, but of
late his work seemed to have doubled
One Saturday Mr.. Cardus' business seemed
to come to a sudden stop. He wrote some
letters and put them to go to post, and then
he went TO admire his orchids.
"Lifen he said aloud to hilsself, "shall be
ri orchids now; my work is done will
build new house for Brazilian sorts, and
spend 9200 on stocking it. Well, / can af-
ford itn
This was about o'clock. Half an hour
later, when he had well examined his flowers,
he strolled out Titheburg abbey way, and
there he met Ernest and his wife, who had
been sitting in their favorite spot.
"Well, my dears," he said, "and how are
youl"
pretty jolly, uncle, thank you, and how
are youi"
az Oh, am very jolly indeed for an old
man; as jolly as an individual who has just
bid good by to work forever should be-" he
said.
"Why, Reginald, what do you meant"
"Mean, Dorothy, my deari / mean that
have wound up my affairs and retired on a
modest competence. All, you young people
should be grateful to me, for let me tell you
that everything is now in apple pie order, and
when slip off you will have no trouble at
all, except to pay the probate duty, and that
will be considerable / never quite knew till
a week ago how rich l was; but, as said the
other day, everything / have touched has
turned to gold 1t will be large fortune for
you to manage, my dears; you will find it
great responsibility"
II hope you will live many years to matt
age it yourself" said Ernest
After dinner the conversation turned upon
| that fatal day when Alston's Horse was wiped
out at Isandhlwana. 1t was a painful sub
| ject both to Ernest and Jeremy, but the for
mer was gratifying his uncles curiosity by
explaining to him how that last dread struggle
1 c;x u,,1, 80
their favor.
"And how was it," asked Mr.. Cardus "that
you managed to get the better of the fellow
you rolled down the hill withp
| "Because the assegai broke, and, fortunately
enough, the blade was left in my hand.
Where is it, DOLLY for Jeremy han brought it
| home with HIM.
Dorothy got up and reached the broken as
segai, which had about eight inches of shaft
from its place over the mantelpiece.
snow then, Jeremy, if you will be so good
as to sprawl upon yoH back on the floor,
will just show my uncle what happened.
Jeremy complied, not without grumbline
about dirtying his dress coat
"Now, Jeremy, my boy, where are you
Oh, there! Well excuse my taking the lib
erty of kneelng on your chest, and holloa Out
if the assegai goes into you. If we are going
to have performance at all, it may as wei
be realistic one. Now, uncle, you see wher
we finished rolling, which was just as thi
assegai snapped in two, us luck would have
it was uppermost, and managed to get my
| knee OH my friends left arm and to hold hi
right with my left. Then, before he coulc
get loose, drove this bit of spear through tn
side of his throat, just there, so that it cut TIA
juguar vein, and he died shortly afterwart
| and now Won know all about it.
Here Ernest rose and laid the spear upoi
the table, and Jeremy entering into tn
spirit of the thing, began to die as artisticall,
as a regard for his dress coat would allow
Just then Dorothy, looking up, saw he
! grandfather Atterleigh's distorted face peer
ing round the wall of the inglenook, where b
was sitting in the dark, and looking at til
scene of mimic slaughter with that sam
curious gaze that he had worn on several oc
casions lately. He withdrew his head q
once
"Get up, jeremy said his sister, sharply
"and stop writhing about there like a grea
snake. You look as though you had bee
murdered; it is horrible"
Jeremy arose laughing, and, having ol
tanned Dolly's permission, they all lit thei
pipes, and sitting there in the fading ligh
fell to talking about that sad scene of slaugl
| Ter, WHICH, lnueSN, hpptuleu lhhl uiBuo
have q strange fascination for Mr. Cardu
He asked Ernest and Jeremy about it agai
and again--how this man was killed, an
that-did they die at once, and SO on,
The subject was always distressing
Ernest, and one TO which he rarely allude'
full as it was for him Of the most painfl
recollections, especially those connected wit
his dear friend Aston and his son.
Dorothy knew this, and knew too thi
Ernest would be down on his luck for at lea
a day after the conversation, which she d
her best to stop. AT last she succeeded, b'
the melancholy associations connected wit
the talk had apparently already dol
their work, for everybody lapsed In
the most complete silence, and sat group'
together at the top end of the old OF
: table as quiet as though they were C
in stone. Meanwhile the twilight deepene
and little gusts of wind arose, al
gently shook the old fashioned window Ii
tices, making a sound as though feeble han
, were trying to throw them open. The d.
, evening light crept from place to place, a
threw great shadows about the room, glanc
, upon the armor on its paneled walls, and
last began to die away into darkness. I
whole scene was eerie, and for some unlno'
reason 1t oppressed Dorothy. She wonder
, why everybody was so silent, and yet {
. herself did not feel equal to breaking the
, lence; there was load upon her heart.
Just then curious thing happened
a the reader may remember, the case conta
| ;no, tLa ,yondarfnl tnun,n,ial haad founl